


Wet / Fear

by Alastael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4623333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alastael/pseuds/Alastael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hands that wake him are wet and clumsy and cold, pressing urgently into Sam’s bare chest; panic-hitched breaths in the darkness make him lash out mindlessly at the monster weight settled over him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet / Fear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ayrdaomei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayrdaomei/gifts).



> I wrote this over a year ago, and was requested to post it over a month ago. I'm sorry it took so long, love.

When they return to the bunker broken and bleeding, Cas and Dean pass a bottle while Sam carefully binds the torn flesh of Castiel’s chest. He remains clinical, hard set brow and dark eyes fixed on the wound, though his eyes slide to Dean for every smile, and the angel’s reverent gaze makes his hands shake.

He assumes his mumbled instructions, _don’t do anything too strenuous_ , go ignored, since Dean’s hand is on Castiel’s thigh before Sam even leaves the room. The jealousy sits heavy in his stomach as he stares into the darkness of his own bedroom and wonders.

The hands that wake him are wet and clumsy and cold, pressing urgently into Sam’s bare chest; panic-hitched breaths in the darkness make him lash out mindlessly at the monster weight settled over him. The answering groan of _Sam_ makes him curse and fumble for light.

The blood smears across Castiel’s forehead as he runs his hand up and through his hair, and it isn’t his hands that are shaking, but his entire being, violent tremors rippling through his vessel. Unfocused eyes search the space surrounding them. When Sam stills Cas’s hands in his own, those blue eyes roll to meet his. _What happened –_

_It’s gone, it’s gone, I can’t find – Sam, where –_ Cas is mumbling broken half-thoughts, as Sam’s gaze rakes over his body for the source of the bleeding. The stitches, of course, and Sam bristles at the thought of what could have caused it.

_No,_ Cas snaps and jerks in Sam’s grip, fists up, and Sam notices the mess on his hands, skin and blood and thread, and Sam feels his own breath hitch. _Did you do this?_

He cries out when Sam lifts him _– I can fix it_ – but with their positions reversed, the fight drains from Cas quickly. It leaves him with shallow breath and soul-deep exhaustion, and he remains still and quiet when Sam leaves the room for supplies.

Castiel sleeps pulled tight against Sam’s chest under ruined sheets, stiff with drying blood. Sam rests, or tries to, and mumbles his displeasure when he wakes with the sun, alone.

He finds Cas in the kitchen, skin scrubbed clean but eyes red, staring into a cup of tea. When Sam pulls out the chair next to him, he starts and drags a hand across his face. Their eyes don’t meet, though they both fixate on a single spot in the table – a deep scratch in the wood, its origin unknown.

_I’m sorry, Sam._ His voice wavers with uncertainty, fear, and Sam almost laughs at the absurdity; instead, he shakes his head, fingers crawling inching across the table to close over the angel’s hand.

_Anytime._ The silence weighs on him, questions unasked pressing the air from his lungs, but he squeezes Cas’s hand softly, letting a small smile slip when he feels tentative fingers pressing back.  The question is whispered, curious and careful. _What were you looking for?_

Cas smiles then, though it’s dark and deprecating, without mirth. _My grace._


End file.
